sion like an
evil conscience, and making slumber horrible--in these slow tortures
of his dread disease, the unfortunate Richard lay wasting and consuming
inch by inch, until, at last, when he seemed to fight and struggle to
rise up, and to be held down by devils, he sank into a deep sleep, and
dreamed no more.

He awoke. With a sensation of most blissful rest, better than sleep
itself, he began gradually to remember something of these sufferings,
and to think what a long night it had been, and whether he had not been
delirious twice or thrice. Happening, in the midst of these
cogitations, to raise his hand, he was astonished to find how heavy it
seemed, and yet how thin and light it really was. Still, he felt
indifferent and happy; and having no curiosity to pursue the subject,
remained in the same waking slumber until his attention was attracted
by a cough. This made him doubt whether he had locked his door last
night, and feel a little surprised at having a companion in the room.
Still, he lacked energy to follow up this train of thought; and
unconsciously fell, in a luxury of repose, to staring at some green
stripes on the bed-furniture, and associating them strangely with
patches of fresh turf, while the yellow ground between made
gravel-walks, and so helped out a long perspective of trim gardens.

He was rambling in imagination on these terraces, and had quite lost
himself among them indeed, when he heard the cough once more. The
walks shrunk into stripes again at the sound, and raising himself a
little in the bed, and holding the curtain open with one hand, he
looked out.

The same room certainly, and still by candlelight; but with what
unbounded astonishment did he see all those bottles, and basins, and
articles of linen airing by the fire, and such-like furniture of a sick
chamber--all very clean and neat, but all quite different from anything
he had left there, when he went to bed! The atmosphere, too, filled
with a cool smell of herbs and vinegar; the floor newly sprinkled;
the--the what? The Marchioness?

Yes; playing cribbage with herself at the table. There she sat, intent
upon her game, coughing now and then in a subdued manner as if she
feared to disturb him--shuffling the cards, cutting, dealing, playing,
counting, pegging--going through all the mysteries of cribbage as if
she had been in full practice from her cradle! Mr Swiveller
contemplated these things for a short time, and suffering t